


The Step by Step Process to Join a Gang

by doobler



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Backstory, Fake AH Crew, M/M, Mutual Pining, Self-Insert, eventual ot7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-10-20 17:44:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20679386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doobler/pseuds/doobler
Summary: Edgar is probably the best bartender in Los Santos with a returning mysterious customer he's fallen hard for. It's a nasty town full of crime and sin. A little crush can't cause much harm.Right?





	1. An Introduction

Edgar flourished during busy nights. Talk flowed easily and his hands were a blur, pulling three glasses of beer simultaneously, twirling a cocktail shaker between deft fingers, flipping a cherry off his thumb to catch between his teeth. Tips were playfully tucked in the waist of his shorts-- he was the bar's resident slut, and he couldn't be more proud. People came from all walks of life here in Los Santos to watch their favorite bartender work his magic.

"So when's our date, Eddie?" One particularly drunk patron slurred.

"When you've got the money to afford me, sweetie!" Edgar shot back, laughing brightly.

The man's friends chided him loudly and everyone was in a great mood. 

Things didn't slow down until 1am and even then, it was still a bit crowded. He was getting tired, the past week full of restless sleep, but his smile never wavered. A margarita glass rim was lovingly dipped in salt, a lime delicately sat on top. He easily snapped off a beer bottle cap with the flat of a broad bladed knife.

"The usual, please."

Edgar's heart pounded. He knew that voice so well. Smiling to himself, he leaned back against the counter, filling up a tall glass with cold Diet Coke.

"Been a while there, stranger," He flirted, dropping a cherry atop the dark brown drink. "Work's goin' okay?"

"Eh, y'know," James smiled, small, almost shy. His long hair was pulled back, ill-fitting glasses perched on a slightly unaligned nose. "You? I missed you."

"Busy as always," Edgar sighed. A hand went up at the end of the counter. He knew their order by heart. "Missed seeing your dumb face."

James chuckled, pretty lips bowing around the edge of his glass. He drank slowly. Even with the dimness of the club, the dark circles and new lines around his eyes were obvious. Edgar sighed, filling a glass with beer.

"I worry about you," Edgar broke the silence, sliding the glass down the counter. It was caught by less than sober hands but didn't spill. "This city is a fucking garbage fire and... You always show up looking like a mess at weird hours."

"It's just one of those jobs," James shrugged, his smiling faltering a bit. "I could say the same about you-- working so late in a club frequented by shady men and women. You're in just as much danger as I am."

Edgar huffed softly, pouring himself a glass of water. He drank it too quickly, leaving a heavy weight in his gut. James caught his eye again and smiled.

"I see you're wearing those earrings I bought you."

"They're nice," Edgar tucked back his hair. The twin black roses on each ear, coated in reflective glitter, caught the light like tiny stars. They paired well with the other gifted set, two little diamond studs. "But they look expensive-- I hope you didn't--"

"Don't worry," James winked, playfully spearing a cherry with his straw and popping it into his mouth. "My job pays well."

He stayed until closing, watching Edgar wipe down the bar, wash all the glasses, pick up discarded peels and stems and straw wrappers. He sat until the manager came around, politely reminding him that the club was closed. 

"I'll see you soon, yeah?" Edgar's voice was softer now that the music was off and the floor was empty. "Actually soon? Not in a month?"

James smiled, taking off his glasses and tucking them in the neck of his shirt. His eyes were such a pretty shade of blue, like the sky high overhead in the heart of summer.

"You'll see me soon. I promise."

With that, he left, and Edgar stayed.


	2. Shit Hits the Fan

“Alright, me time.”

Edgar propped his hands up on his hips. Standing in his underwear in the kitchen, he admired his spread of snacks. From Pringles to Takis, sour gummy worms to Sno Balls, he had all his bases covered. All that remained was a tall glass of any booze he could scrounge up and his night would be set.

He was halfway through shoving a handful of chips into his mouth when a knock came at the door. Weird. It was just past eleven. Groaning loudly, he choked down his chips and slipped on a shirt just baggy enough to cover his ass. Checking to make sure the closest drawer did in fact have a loaded pistol, he slowly eased the door open.

Edgar gasped. The body leaning against the doorframe was soaked in blood. He tried to push it back with the door when it moaned.

“Ed…. Please….”

“James?!”

Their head tilted back and sure enough, there were two pretty blue eyes and a familiar slightly crooked nose. Edgar felt paralyzed, fingers clenching at the doorknob.

“What… What happened?!”

“Can I… Come in…?”

“Oh! Yeah, of course!”

Edgar scuttled back, holding out his hand to help James inside. He staggered a few feet before collapsing on the couch. Edgar bolted to the bathroom, pulling out the old first aid kit shoved deep under the sink. When he returned, James had pulled off his jacket and pushed up his shirt. He had a few circular wounds, undeniably from bullets, and a long shallow cut down one arm. Pulling out the hydrogen peroxide, Edgar soaked a rag and began dabbing at every injury.

“You look like hell!” He cried, fear like ice in his veins. “What the fuck happened?! I thought you were out working again!”

“I mean…” James hissed softly, his wounds stinging. “Technically, yeah.”

“What d'you mean, ‘technically’?”

James inhaled slowly. He looked as gorgeous as usual, long honey brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, errant strands framing his face nicely. He didn’t have his glasses on, which was an odd sight, but he actually looked better without them.

“Can I just… Rest a bit first?” He pleaded.

“Yeah, yeah, of course! Let me get you some water–”

Edgar filled a glass, dropping in a straw for good measure. He held it as James drank, watching closely when he once again melted into the cushions with a deep sigh. After staring for a few solid minutes, James finally gave in.

“Y'know… The Fakes?" 

"The Fake AH Crew?” Edgar snorted, unpeeling a bandaid and awkwardly placing it over a bullet wound. “Yeah, those rich thug assholes who make my commute a daily hell. What about them?”

James gave him a leveled look, a terrifying sense of honesty written on his face. Edgar shook his head slowly, the gradual realization stabbing into his heart.

“No… No, you told me…. You said you were in IT! You did computer shit!”

“A younger me did, yeah,” James clarified. “Present me? Not so much.”

Edgar stood up and stepped back. He looked at the bloodstained jacket again, finally taking in the solid black leather and its stripes of blue accents. Oh. Oh fuck no.

“You–”

“I… 'Moonlight’ as The Vagabond, yes,” James flexed his fingers in air quotes. “I was out on a self-assigned hit and got hit back twice as hard. I… Remembered your address and knew you were much closer than the base. If I’d tried to get back home, I probably would’ve bled out ”

Edgar was breathing hard, hazel eyes wide, brows draw in. He leaned heavily against the wall, blinking rapidly.

“I know…. It’s a lot,” James pushed off the couch, clutching at his side and wincing. “But I need to get out of here. Either… You can drive me or I gotta drive myself. But I gotta be quick.”

Edgar looked at him again, those damned eyes, that long hair, his stupid jawline and annoyingly pretty lips. He was hyperventilating a little bit from the stress and tried his best to stay calm. Sweeping his hair off his face, Edgar met James’ eyes. Neither of them blinked.

“Can you… Give me thirty seconds?” Edgar finally spoke.

James relaxed a fraction and nodded. Within moments, Edgar was in ripped jeans and the same shirt with a thin jacket layered on top. He slipped on his only sensible pair of shoes, powder pink Chucks, and pocketed his emergency miniature canister of mace. He contemplated grabbing his gun, the only real weapon he owned, but decided against it. Somehow, the denial of danger was keeping him focused.

“I just got a fucking raise, I was gonna have a fucking night to my goddamned myself,” Edgar muttered as he packed. “But no, god knows there’s no fucking good fortune in a backwater shit city like fucking Los Santos.”

“That’s the spirit!”

James flinched at the cold scowl he received. Finally ready, the pair slipped out the door and down the single flight of stairs. Parked outside, rather haphazardly, was no doubt James’ car. It easily cost what Edgar made in more than a year. He tried to ignore the obvious bullet holes and slid into the driver’s seat. James followed suit, nearly collapsing in the passenger’s. His skin was getting pale and little beads of sweat gathered along his forehead.

“If I navigate, can you follow?”

“Of course I fucking can,” Edgar growled, buckling himself in and revving the engine. “What am I, a fucking baby?”

“No, you’re not.”

James’ somewhat ditzy smile was replaced with an awkward frown when Edgar shot him a death glare.

“You’re not off the hook, mister, not by a long shot,” Edgar pulled them into reverse then drive, smoothly slamming his foot down on the gas. “Either you die on the way or I kill you with my bare fucking hands.”

“Wow,” James croaked as they sped down the street well over the speed limit. “You sure are a catch, huh?”


	3. Now You're In

Edgar pulled into the high-rise’s garage, as per James’ instructions. He’d never been in this district before, home to Los Santos’ more affluent population, stuck in the poorer community off his bartender salary. He was blinded by a near militia of gaudy cars, some of them entirely chrome, others sporting a garish palette of purple and orange. Edgar scowled but pulled into an empty spot. Beside him, James was still pale and bleeding but looked a bit relieved. They were, it seemed, in the clear.

Before Edgar could reprimand the man, the garage door opened. A head of curly brown hair poked out, accompanied by a rather disinterested scowl.

“Oh hey, you’re alive.”

James slow extricated himself from the car, waving the stranger off casually.

“Of course I fucking am, I’m a goddamned professional.”

“You fuckin’ wish,” The man turned to Edgar and his brow lifted ever so slightly. “Wow, you brought company. Is this the guy?”

James hesitated before nodding slowly. Curly-hair mirrored the gesture.

“He’s way too pretty for you, dude.”

Edgar snapped his mouth shut, blinking rapidly. With an air of nonchalance, the stranger gestured for them to follow.

“I fucking hate when Geoff makes me the fucking errand boy, goddammit.” He muttered but still waited for the pair to catch up.

They made their way to the nearest elevator. Curly-hair thumbed the button labeled “penthouse” and something heavy sunk into Edgar’s gut.

Standing in silence, they waited as the elevator rose higher and higher. The newest member to the party cleared his throat, eyebrows raised. James blinked slowly before letting out a soft startled noise.

“Right, uh. Edgar, this is Michael,” He recited, leaning back so they could shake hands. “Michael, this is Edgar.”

“Good to meet you,” Michael finally cracked the smallest smile. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“We?” Edgar echoed.

“Yeah.”

Finally, the elevator dinged, coming to a halt as the doors slid open. Someone was waiting for them, a rather slim looking man with messy honey-brown hair and gold aviators. He perked up as Michael passed him, giggling as they knocked elbows. When he spotted James, he yelped.

“Jesus christ, Ry!” He squawked. “You look like shit!”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve established that,” James waved him off, dragging himself through the penthouse. “Is everyone in?”

“Yeah, Jack an’ Geoff are wrapping up a meeting. I dunno what lil’ J’s up to.”

“Awesome.”

Edgar watched, paralyzed. He could easily press the button for the first floor, get to the garage, call a taxi, and bolt. He wanted to be in bed, safe and warm and sleeping. Instead, the guy, a Brit by the sound of it, met his eyes with a goofy grin.

“Oh, hello there, love!” He held out his hand, positively beaming. “You’re the guy Ryan’s been talkin’ ‘bout so much, yeah? We’ve only heard the good stuff, don’t worry.”

“Ryan?” Edgar shook his hand, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah? Kinda tall, long hair, beard. You just walked in with him?”

Edgar inhaled slowly. He worked his fingertips into his temples. He could feel his blood pounding through his ears. From the kitchen, around a mouthful of food, Michael called out.

“I think our guest needs a drink, Gav, show him the bar!”

“Awright,” Gav looked sympathetic for a moment. “Follow me then!”

The penthouse was enormous enough that the bar was in a separate area from the kitchen and around the corner. It was well stocked and clean but seemed to get very little use.

“We’re mostly beer drinkers here,” Gav spoke as Edgar poked around. “Well. The ones of us that drink. Geoff’s gone sober and Ry hates alcohol. Geoff’d sometimes drink like whiskey an’ shit when he was drinking but now all that really gets done is beer. And sometimes Four Loko but only Jeremy and Michael drink that shit. Oh, and sometimes champagne, but like. That’s for nice occasions.”

“You guys have some real expensive shit,” Edgar whistled, picking up a bottle. “Macallan whiskey easily goes over $1,000, and Havana Club Máximo Extra Anejo rum? Also pretty fuckin’ pricey.”

“You know your drinks, huh?” Gav propped his chin up in his hand, eyes wide and bright.

“Well, yeah,” Edgar finally smiled, shrugging casually. “It’s like. My number one passion.”

The pair broke eye contact when yet another new man ambled into the bar. He reached for a beer in the fridge under the counter, popping off the cap with a pocket knife. He was halfway done with it when he finally noticed there was someone out of the ordinary only a few inches away.

“Oh. Hey.” His face twisted between a smile and a look of confusion.

“His name’s Edgar,” Gav explained. “He’s the bartender Ryan’s always gushin’ about.”

“Huh? Oh!” The man held out his hand and Edgar shook it, holding back a laugh. “Sorry! I didn’t know you were coming! I’m Jeremy.”

“Jeremy,” Edgar repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. “You want me to make you something better than that?”

Jeremy held up his mostly finished beer, brow quirked. He grinned and leaned back against the counter.

“Yeah, sure, impress me.”

—

Jeremy smacked his lips, eyes slightly crossed as he pounded back his drink. Edgar tried to watch with enthusiasm, barely supressing a grimace.

“His stomach is gonna hate him for that,” Edgar’s face scrunched up reflexively. “Manhattans are more a sipping drink than a chugging drink.”

“I’m pretty sure I could eat nails if I really set my mind to it,” Jeremy saluted with the now empty glass. “That, by the way, was fucking delicious.”

Edgar finally smiled, a bit of confidence leeching back into his posture.

“What’s Ryan’s usual?” Gav had taken up one of the barstools, twisting back and forth constantly.

“Diet fucking Coke.”

The pair laughed and Edgar managed a giggle.

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Jeremy wiped away an imaginary tear.

“Same old lovely Ryan.” Gav chimed in.

Edgar opened his mouth, eager to learn more, when a new face poked around the corner. How many people even lived in this penthouse? This guy looked a lot kinder, with bright eyes and a thick friendly looking beard. He spotted Edgar and his face lit up.

“You must be our new recruit,” He chuckled, extending his hand. “I’m Jack.”

“Edgar. And… Definitely not a recruit.”

“Don’t worry, Ryan filled me in,” Jack stepped back and gestured into the main room. “Could you come with me? We wanna have a little talk.”

Edgar looked back at his new acquaintances. Jeremy and Gav both smiled and everything, for just a moment, seemed okay. With a nod, Edgar followed Jack. They made their way past the kitchen, around the living room, down a long hallway, and into what seemed to be the master suite. A living area with a bed, nightstand, closet, and private bathroom sat on the left. To the right was a big mahogany desk. A map of Los Santos, littered with notations, hung on the wall. 

Sitting in a rather plush looking swivel chair had to be the Fake’s head boss. His hands were covered in tattoos and the beard hugging his jaw looked more like a product of stress and exhaustion rather than a fashion statement. His eyes were a bit deep-set and a cool greyish blue. When he sighed, it seemed the entire world was on his shoulders.

“Hey, Geoff,” Jack spoke up, leading Edgar to the desk. “You wanted to talk?”

“Oh, hey,” Geoff nodded, lips pursed. “But not to you, just him. You’re dismissed.”

Edgar could’ve sworn he heard a quiet “alright, asshole” as Jack left, closing the door behind him.

The room was utterly silent.

Geoff thumbed through a stack of documents, shuffling them around before stacking them off to the side. He closed his laptop, interlacing his fingers and leaning back in his seat. His eyes searched Edgar’s face.

“Hungry? I know it’s late.”

“No,” Edgar shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“No need to be so polite,” Geoff cracked a little smile. “I already don’t get any fucking respect around here, I don’t need some poor terrified kid giving me pleases and thank you’s.”

“I’m twenty-seven.”

“Alright, a baby, then.”

Edgar scowled. Geoff didn’t seem fazed.

“Ryan caught me up on what happened,” Geoff kicked his socked feet up onto the desk. “He’s a fucking idiot, that’s for damn sure, but he wouldn’t have come to you if he didn’t seriously need help. Pretty sure you saved his fucking life.”

Edgar sniffled and tried to not let those words sink in too deeply.

“Sadly, you can’t go back,” Geoff continued. The bravado shifted a little and he looked genuinely apologetic. “No doubt our enemies have marked your apartment. You’d be dead if you went back. We can provide you shelter here, though, you’re free to stay.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

Geoff gave him a tight lipped smile.

“Well, it’d probably break Ryan’s heart but I could put some of my boys to the task and we could get you out of Los Santos and relocated in a few days.”

Edgar clenched his fists. His stomach hurt and his heart flipped and flopped. He exhaled slowly through his nose.

“And if I stay here…?”

“You’d be expected to earn your keep, but not in any illegal way,” Geoff rose from his seat, his joints popping noisily. “Keep the penthouse ship shape, help us keep organized, maybe some cooking, easy menial shit.”

Geoff rounded the desk, leaning back against it.

“I can’t promise you your old life back, but I can promise this Crew will keep you as safe as possible. Plus… The guys seem to like you already.

Geoff held out his hand. Though he looked exhausted, something bright shone behind his eyes. When Edgar took his hand, he broke out in a truly delighted grin.

"Excellent,” Geoff beamed, winding an arm around the younger man’s shoulders and leading him out of the room. “Tonight, dinner’s on us, we’ve got like ten pizzas. Tomorrow, the boys’ll take you out on the town so you can shop for new clothes, all expenses paid by the Fakes. After that, you’ll be on the Crew.”

They made their way to the kitchen but Edgar hung back. He watched as the six men bickered like a family, Michael with a slice of pizza in either hand, Jeremy reaching for one as Jack held it high above his head. Behind them all, leaning against the sink, was Ryan. He met Edgar’s eyes and his pain was visible. He nodded slowly, tilting his head towards the carnage. Holding up a plate, he mimed snagging a slice for Edgar, as if a little pizza could fix all that had happened.

It wouldn’t, but it was definitely a start.


	4. Thank You

Edgar barely flinched as the door to the penthouse roof opened. He drank the rest of his beer, heaving a loud sigh.

“Hey, can I join you?”

It was Jack. Edgar kept his gaze fixed on the city below.

“Did Ryan send you?” Edgar replied, shivering a little.

“Nah, I just thought you might be lonely.”

Edgar jumped a little as something was wrapped around his shoulders. It was Jack’s Hawaiian print shirt. He sat beside him in only a t-shirt now, the city lights illuminating his silhouette. Edgar tried not to stare but something about Jack put him at ease. 

“I’d ask if you’re gonna be okay,” Jack started. “But I know you probably aren’t.”

“Yeah, well. C'est la vie or whatever the fuck.”

Jack chuckled. He pulled another two bottles of beer from his pocket. When he went to search for the bottle opener in his pocket, Edgar silently requested he hand one over. As casually as possible, he knocked the cap against an edge of metallic supports beneath him, popping it off without spilling more than a few drops. He handed it back to Jack, giving the next bottle the same treatment. 

They drank in silence for a bit, admiring the backdrop of Los Santos.

“Geoff wasn’t lying when he said we’d keep you safe,” Jack spoke up after a while. “We might be idiots but we’re pretty familiar with the game. We’ve got the skills and resources to make sure you’re comfortable and protected.”

“I wish I could be thankful,” Edgar muttered. “I just… Want my life back.”

“Maybe… One day, strings can be pulled to make that happen. But I’d hate to make an empty promise.”

Jack smiled and his eyes seemed to light up.

“Anyways, the longer you’re here, the more you can get back at Ryan for all this shit.”

Edgar laughed for the first time that night. He grinned, shaking his head as he stared into the neck of his beer bottle.

“Thanks, Jack I… Really appreciate it.” Edgar replied softly.

“Yeah, of course.”

They sat in companiable silence for a while longer, Jack pointing out places where they’d heisted every so often. He seemed passionate about it, which was hard for Edgar to wrap his mind around, but he enjoyed listening regardless. After a while, Jack’s phone beeped. He pulled it out and sighed.

“Alright, looks like Ryan’s on the couch tonight,” He snickered. “His room is all yours.”

“I think… I’m gonna stay up for a little longer. If that’s okay.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Jack pocketed his phone and stood, tipping the last of his beer into his mouth. “Michael and Gavin are gonna take you out shopping tomorrow so just let them know when you wanna head out. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to wake any of us up, alright?”

“Yeah, ok, thanks Jack.”

As he turned to leave, Edgar made a desperate little noise. Jack came closer, bowing his head to listen. Rising up, Edgar pressed a soft kiss to his bearded cheek, eyes downcast.

“I… Appreciate what you’re doing for me,” Edgar said quietly. “Thanks. A lot.”

Jack smiled, warm and wide.

“Of course, Edgar.”


	5. It's Not So Bad (Maybe)

Edgar stepped into the cool autumn air, shivering as a light breeze danced around him. He chose to dress as he did for work but adding a jacket would probably be a smart option. As he reached for his keys, a familiar silhouette coughed beside him.

"Little chilly for short-shorts, huh?"

"Being a ho keeps me warm," Edgar replied smoothly. "Like being a stalker keeps you silent."

"We've both mutually agreed I'm not a stalker," James countered, stepping into the light. "Just... An enthusiastically interested party."

"Ah. 'Cuz that's totally different."

James beamed, his eyes scrunching up adorably behind his glasses. He passed over a to-go coffee cup and the delicate waft of hot chocolate and cinnamon hit Edgar's nose. He inhaled the steam deeply, letting out a delighted sigh.

"Aw, hell yeah," He grinned after a long sip. "That hits the spot just right, thank you."

They leaned against the wall together, obscured on either side by industrial sized garbage bins and chain link fences. Los Santos was never quiet, even now at 3am. 

"... How long have you been back for?" Edgar spoke up after a while, cradling his now empty cup.

"Since this morning," James replied. "I took a long nap but you were my first visit."

He let out a bitter laugh, unlike his usual breathy chuckling.

"I couldn't get you out of my head. I... Missed you. A lot."

"I missed you too, James," Edgar replied softly. "The late night crowd isn't the same without your dumb face and your stupid diet Coke."

James smiled, eyes tracing nonsensical patterns along the concrete. Very subtly, he shifted his arm over, curling his pinkie around Edgar's. Standing close together, they both looked up to the stars. The city's air pollution didn't give it the best night sky but you could see enough to feel a little small in contrast to the big wide universe.

"It's been ten months, did you know that?"

Edgar hummed an affirmation. Ten whole months since James had wandered into the club, chosen to sit at the bar right in front of Edgar, become enamoured with such a vibrant and boisterous personality. It went both ways in all honesty. That made Edgar blush.

"You uh, probably wanna go home, huh?" James sounded embarrassed. "I didn't mean to keep you long, just wanted to. Y'know. Check in on you."

"Yeah, but I appreciate that," Edgar smirked. "You're pretty cute for a stalker."

James blew a raspberry but couldn't hold back his grin. Their eyes met, hazel and gunmetal blue. Slowly, Edgar leaned in. His eyes fluttered shut. He could feel James' warm breath on his cheeks, feel the presence of his body coming in closer. Their fingers intertwined and Edgar's pulse pounded in his ears.

He woke up.

This bed was bigger than his own, the room dark from the lack of any windows. The smell of iron lingered in the air. Oh. Right. The Fakes. His new life. This was James-- no. Ryan's room.

Heaving himself upright, Edgar managed to drag himself out of bed and into the adjoining bathroom. He looked like hell, all his usual makeup smudged off to expose the dark circles under his eyes, the worry lines carved around the corners of his mouth. He let out the biggest sigh he could manage and, for a brief moment, the inherent stress trapped in his body slightly abated. 

A quick splash of water on his face was all he needed. He made his way down the hall, past the many other bedrooms, around the living room and into the kitchen. Jeremy was there, scrolling through his phone as he munched on an untoasted bagel. When he noticed Edgar, he grinned.

"Mornin', champ," He beamed, watching the Fakes' guest navigate around the kitchen. "How'd you sleep?"

"Terribly." Edgar muttered.

Jeremy hummed, frowning. He tapped his fingers against the marble countertop. Edgar worked on making himself a cup of coffee.

"Michael and Gavin are ready to go when you are," Jeremy attempted to keep the conversation going. "So you can y'know. Get stuff you need. For day-to-day. Things."

"Yeah, thanks."

Sniffling loudly, Jeremy clenched his jaw. He passed along a sheet of paper, spinning it to face Edgar.

"These are, uh, everyone's phone numbers, just in case. The rest of us are gonna be busy today but feel free to shoot us a message if you need to."

"Okay."

Inhaling sharply out his nose, Jeremy nodding a few times. As Michael and Gavin rounded the corner, he quietly excused himself, walking quickly towards his room.

"Morning!" Gavin cheered. He leaned up against the counter, all smiles. "You ready to head out?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Michael quirked his brow but said nothing. With a casual shrug of his shoulders, he led the trio to the elevator and down to the garage. To Edgar's surprise, they clambered into the most normal looking car on hand, a sleek looking black Adder with green accents. He sat in the back, slumped against the seat, and watched the scenery whizz by as they drove down the streets of Los Santos.

"We can hit our usual spots first," Gavin announced, flipping through his phone idly. "Then maybe go to the more uhhhh y'know."

"Interesting places." Michael finished. His turns were smooth despite the speed they were travelling.

"Alright." Edgar mumbled back.

They drove in silence for a while longer, the radio playing rather quietly. Edgar didn't notice the occasional awkward glances, the growing tension in such a small space. After a while, Michael finally groaned and pulled them over, the car's front left wheel easing over the curb.

"What's your address?" Michael huffed, meeting Edgar's eyes in the rear view mirror.

"... Wh. What?" Edgar sat up straighter.

"Your address. Of your fucking apartment."

"I thought--"

"Yeah, but if I have to keep looking back at your sorry fucking mug, I'm gonna lose it."

Edgar blinked owlishly. After a loud swallow, he repeated the street name and apartment number. Michael seemed to know the city like the back of his hand and made it there with no further instructions. When he parked a block over, he twisted fully in his seat to meet Edgar's eyes dead-on.

"This place is definitely being watched," He recited. "So I need you right now to think of the most basic essential shit that'll make you act less like a pathetic bitch. You've got five minutes from the second we stop to let you out. Get it in your head right now what to grab."

After a few moments, Edgar nodded. They pulled up at the apartment and he took off before the wheels could stop spinning. Up the stairs to apartment 3b, he practically kicked the door in. First, he grabbed the only duffel bag he owned, a pink glittery one with black hemming. He threw in all his underwear, his shirts, his bottoms, his socks. That was easy. Next, in his closet, he snatched all his more delicate accessories; his favorite harnesses, his sheer bathrobe, his corsets, and other assorted items. Everything else could be replaced. The Fakes had more higher quality spirits than he could ever hope to own and things like blankets and bags and curtains weren't his priority. 

Back at the door, he scooped up all his shoes and quickly zipped the bag shut. Just as he reached for the handle, he remembered his jewelry box and all the little gifts Ryan had bought him over the past year. He hesitated. As mad as he was over the whole ordeal, he was still in l-- affectionate towards the man. He dashed to the bathroom and tucked the little box under his arm. 

Out the apartment, down the steps, and into the car with possibly a minute to spar, Edgar collapsed in the backseat. He couldn't help his manic breathy laughter as the car sped away.

"Better?" Michael asked when he calmed down.

"Much," Edgar sighed, pushing his hair out of his face. "I... Know that was risky. Thank you."

Leaning into the front, Edgar dropped a feather-light kiss against Michael's cheek. He tried to hold back a smile but broke into a full-blown grin when Gavin squawked loudly.

"Oi, I'm here, too! Where's my credit?"

Edgar ruffled the Brit's hair, laughing.

"You gotta earn it, babe." He winked, laughing harder when Gavin made another distressed noise.

Maybe these hardened criminals weren't so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> This AU is being catalogued over at my blog doobler.tumblr.com under the tags "fahc" and "self-insert" so feel free to take a peek!


End file.
